


The Far Edge of Dawn

by Aethersprite



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mass Effect Fusion, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, EVERYONE is here - Freeform, Everyone reincarnates into the Mass Effect universe, Except Byleth who has just been taking a Very Long Nap, Gen, Human!Edelgard, I handwave some technical details as dragon magic shenanigans, No named characters are OCs, except the Ashen Wolves, listen..... Claude but he stole Han Solo's job, not a lot of characters from Mass Effect are here it's mostly the setting and conflict, quarian!Claude, this Byleth did a merged SS/VW/AM route, turian!Dimitri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24493066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethersprite/pseuds/Aethersprite
Summary: Born outside the flotilla, quarian Mirza’Shal nar Tasi dreams of one day earning acceptance by presenting a pilgrimage gift he thinks no captain would be able to refuse: space station Omega, with its army of mercenaries. A long shot, he knows, for a lowly smuggler like himself. But something about his dreams of a woman sleeping on a throne of stone, an eerie bow cradled in her arms, leads him to believe that maybe it isn’t as impossible as he first thought.Byleth just wants to know who to blame for Agarthan architecture trends coming into style.(Or, the reincarnation AU where Claude becomes a space outlaw to save the galaxy and drags everyone else into his nonsense, too.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth, Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	1. Seeking Sirius

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I've actually been sitting on this for a bit and just realized that hey, maybe I should actually post it! Several chapters are already written and I plan to post them as I edit. This is... A pretty out there crossover, so I dunno how much interest this will get, but I'm having a lot of fun with it so I hope someone else finds it entertaining. I have a pretty solid idea about how I want the major plot beats to go, and who all Byleth's students are in this universe, but am open to suggestions and would love to hear any feedback! 
> 
> A few notes: This Byleth chose the Black Eagles, sided against Edelgard, and teamed up with Claude (and later Dimitri) in a sort of amalgam of all the routes except Crimson Flower. You could also choose to read it as a Blyeth who started out Silver Snow and then divine pulsed back to redo as a joint Verdant Wind/Azure Moon route, if you prefer. I am also sort-of basing Byleth's dragon form on her appearance before her fusion with Sothis, instead of her dragon form being the same as Sothis', if that makes any sense. If people find that jarring, though, I may go back and change that.
> 
> For anyone here from my other works, hi! It's been awhile, sorry. I intend to come back to Cursebreaker and The Attendant, but it will probably be a few months as I need to replay some games and dig up my old notes to get back into the swing of things. I am scrapping my original plan to expand upon From the Ashes and will just leave it up as a one-shot.

The cold had long sunk into their bones, their only companion beyond those they remember in their brief moments of wakefulness. They were never one for dreaming, but in those flashes of consciousness they dearly wish they were. Even the pinprick bite of the treasures- the tombstones of better days- they so fiercely guard had been long lost to the numbing chill.

They drift endlessly, now. How long had it been? Centuries, likely, but they have no real way to keep track. Someone else was better than they at keeping track of time. They could feel the strain of the hourglass ready to shatter in their mind still, but however long they had been like this was far beyond that power’s meager scope.

Stars and solar systems and comets and nebulae pass them by, or perhaps it was the other way around. Wings could beat, defy physics to propel them to a nearby planet, but that would serve no purpose. There was nothing left for them but starlight and the cold void.

When they are awake enough to do so, they wonder if this is hell. They think they might prefer the eternal flames growled about by- someone. Their tail curled more tightly around one of their four treasures. A spear. It slumbered just as she did, its bones just as cold as their own. They did not entirely remember how they knew it should be warm like an outstretched hand.

Even the bow had long gone cold and dark, when it should have been the brightest of all. It was certainly their favorite; it brings memories of warm sands and laughter and clumsy wingbeats out of dormancy. It was cradled close to their heart, next to their sword. Her sword?

Which her?

Sometimes it was startling to remember that they are they because they are a we, rather than just a she. Sometimes she loses track of which she that she was, the both of them so long blended together and the line further blurred by their long sleep. It will be something for them to parse out when they fully wake. _If_ they fully wake. The longer that time stretches on and on the less likely that they will ever have reason to shake themselves from slumber.

The stars continue to drift by, borne onwards by the slow current of passing eons. They no longer remember why they find the axe they carry so deeply unsettling, why they cannot bear to let it go in spite of that. She may love the axe, but she cannot trust it not to bite her. Trust was…

… Trust was for the bow, for the strange feeling it brings to her scales. Warmth, her sluggish mind provides. It is warm.

It is warm!

 _Please,_ she prayed to the light of the crescent moon, _stay. I am so cold._ The other of their they had not spoken in such a long time. She misses them. All of them, even if who they were was just beyond her in her hibernal state. _I miss you._

She wasn’t sure if she imagined it or not, but the bow seemed to glow brighter just before the tide of sleep pulled her under once more.  
  


* * *

  
Mirza’Shal nar Tasi wasn’t sure if the shiver that ran down his spine was from the biting chill in the air, or the vastness of the stone chamber before him. An eerie green light filled the central path from where he stood to beckon him towards a massive throne; darkness shrouded the everything else beyond the intended walkway. This place never failed to set him on edge.

Despite his better instincts, though, something drove him forwards. The first time that something had been his curiosity slowly eating him alive. After that it was just… A need to see _her_ again.

He didn’t know who she was, just that she was important.

Tonight, like all the previous nights, saw her curled up on her stone throne and dead to the world. It looked pretty damn uncomfortable, with nothing but her own dress to cushion her. The weapons cradled in her arms probably didn’t help much either. They were brutal things, the weapons considered primitive even by civilizations that had yet to achieve basic spaceflight.

One of them… _Called_ to him.

For three nights now he had had this dream. Made his way to her throne. Stared at the one that his hands itched to pick up, resisted the urge. It was a long, curved thing clearly made of the bones of some great beast; Mirza swore it seemed _alive_ when he inspected it too closely. Touching it was probably a bad idea. Something deep in his core told him with an unshakable certainty that this place was more than just a dream. This place was reaching out to him, and he didn’t know its motive. He didn’t know what would happen if he reached back, took whatever it was silently offering. Really, he’d shown wonderful restraint in resisting the temptation.

This was the fourth night, now. Clearly this place wasn’t going anywhere. There’d been a chance that three was the magic number, and then Mirza could’ve gone back to his regularly scheduled nightly programming of taking back Rannoch and telling that stuffy Admiralty Board to shove it, but no. He wasn’t getting anywhere by just standing here staring dumbly at the pretty lady like some creep.

He reached out, brushed his hand against the bone.

The effect was immediate, light spreading from where he’d touched it until the almost the entire weapon was glowing. Glowing and… _Pulsating._ He yanked his hand back as though it had burned him.

As he stared at the weapon, wondering what new and surprising horrors it would reveal, the sleeping woman’s eyes fluttered open. Her bright green eyes were blurry and unfocused and deeply, unsettlingly _familiar_. He knew those eyes. He had seen this throne before. Seeing her sleeping on it suddenly broke his heart, and he didn’t know why. _“Please stay,”_ she rasped, voice hoarse with disuse. _“I am so cold.”_ Another blink cleared some of the sleep from her gaze. _“I miss you.”  
  
_

* * *

  
Mirza’Shal woke with a start, the echoes of a yearning _I miss you_ ringing in his ears. He couldn’t be awake. This was all wrong, he had to go back, had to help her—

There was a tugging on his being that he couldn’t explain, something that beckoned him to rise from his cot and make his way to the helm of his ship and take the wheel. Listening to the urge was dumb, it was stupid and probably wouldn’t end in anything but disappointment and wasted effort.

So of course he listened to it.

He let it guide his feet to the ship’s controls, let it turn off his autopilot and spin the ship back around the way he’d come. Never mind that he’d carefully planned out his fuel reserves for this trip to maximize his useful load. As long as he found her, somehow she’d get them back to safety. He didn’t know why he felt that way.

Was… Was this what indoctrination felt like? Mirza had heard the rumors. That insufferable Admiral he sometimes dealt with under-the-table had slipped him a tip that there was probably more truth to those rumors than Citadel space wanted to believe. The dreadnaught that had attacked the Citadel two years ago had almost certainly not been geth make. For all he knew, said the part of his brain that had kept him alive so far, he’d been caught in a Reaper’s snare.

He quashed that train of thought. It was too late to turn back now: he’d just have to put his trust in the familiar face he’d never seen before.

It was several hours of flight before he found what he was looking for. Bright light poured out from between cracks in a dark mass, and Mirza _knew_ it came from the weapon from his dream. His scanner indicated it would be possible to take it and its apparent casing into the cargo bay… If he spaced his current cargo.

He straightened the cloth hood around his helmet as he contemplated what he was about to do. There was a frankly obscene amount of red sand smuggled away back there, and he knew it wouldn’t be pretty if wasn’t delivered on time… Much less if it wasn’t delivered at _all_. Bailing on this big a delivery was a fantastic way to get half of Omega looking for his head.

What was that one phrase humans were fond of? _Fortune favors the bold._ His aspirations were so much higher than that of a run-of-the-mill smuggler. Whatever it was that he was looking at was far more valuable than _drugs._ If he wasn’t willing to take bigger risks, he’d never get anywhere close to the jackpot.

He pressed the bay’s ejection button and started loading procedures for taking his new find onboard. This wasn’t a standardized freight container, so Mirza wasn’t willing to take a chance on letting the ship’s VI handle bringing his find safely onboard. Whatever it was, it looked almost organic; if he accidentally injured his friend when he was counting on her to be able to bail him out then that very well might be the end of the line.

_Friend._

That… Was a thought to suppress for now and come back to later.

Using the equipment his ship had for bringing in cargo was out of the question. Too many metal hooks and prongs and ways to inadvertently crush delicate unidentified objects floating around in space without protection. Really, the only thing to do was leave the bay door open and _very carefully_ maneuver the ship until they were safely inside.

Fifteen minutes of agonizing focus and anxiety later, and he was barreling down to inspect his new cargo.  
  


* * *

  
Awareness came with the realization that she was steeped in warmth. The thin membranes of her wings were the first to shake off the void’s chill, and unwrapping them from her curled form did wonders for letting more warm air circulate around her limbs. Something clattered as she stretched and yawned; she paid it no mind. The novelty of air filling her lungs was the second most exciting thing to happen to her in recent memory.

The _most_ exciting thing was how the bow had lit up, coming alive in a way it had not done since the days of white wyverns and pine needle tea. Motivated by the need to see it again, she did her best to blink the sleep from her eyes. When she could see clearly, the sight almost stole her newfound breath. _He was here, he was_ here _, the bow did not lie the bow was trust he was trust she could trust him—_

“Claude.”

His head tilted up to look at her... At least, she was reasonably sure he was looking at her. It was difficult to tell with the strange helmet he wore, a darkly tinted shield around his entire face. The craftsmanship was impeccable. Colored glass with such uniform shape must have cost him a fortune; while she wondered about how practical it was for combat she doubted buy something so expensive without good reason. 

“I believe you’re mistaken, my friend.” Though she could not see his face, she could hear the smile that did not reach his eyes. “My name is Mirza’Shal nar Tasi.” Was something going on? Were they in some danger, that he hid behind a mask and claimed a different name?

A quick glance around the room was enough to answer that question, a low growl rumbling in her chest as she realized that it was constructed entirely of metal. _Agarthans._ Had they taken him? Experimented on him? Were they prisoners in a cage of steel? Were they going to carve her up for her bones, crack open Sothis’ heart, turn Claude into one of their demons?

No. No, they weren’t going to _touch him._ She just got him back, it wasn’t fair, it wouldn’t be fair to see him again after _so long_ only to lose him again so soon, _the bow was trust she would not betray that trust she wouldn’t she wouldn’t she wouldn’t—_

The dragon was dimly aware of alarmed chattering as she moved to seek a means of escape. There were none that she could fit through beyond the strange door she must have come through- and even now she knew that Claude would not survive the vacuum of space. She needed to get him somewhere safe, move this strange prison to somewhere with air before she tore it to shreds.

It didn’t occur to her that he might be here of his own volition.

How had they gotten her inside the ship? Her vision was tunneling, she needed to figure this out quickly. They might not get a second chance. She couldn’t risk losing consciousness before he was safe before they were safe they would rip the flesh from her bones drain her blood carve her bones—

 _Magic._ They must have shields to keep the air inside when the doors were open. Her claws tore through the doors like a knife through parchment, the horrible screeching of metal piercing through her roar as she burst free.

The Agarthan machine was long and rectangular, with a few smaller offshoot structures. For a moment she felt almost lost trying to tell where to focus her assault, so different it was from any vessel she had seen before. There weren’t any defenses as far as she could tell; she took the luxury of making a slow circle to inspect the exterior. She didn’t want to risk gambling Claude’s life on Divine Pulses if she made a mistake. Not when it had been so painfully long.

Blue fire streaming from some of the offshoot structures seemed to be how the vessel pushed itself through the void. Careful to avoid the fire itself, wary of whatever foul magic powered it, she clamped her jaws around the base of the one closest to her. Hot plasma bubbled up in the back of her throat as she let the metal grow soft with heat before she _tore._ The fire spluttered and died as the part she’d ripped off spun out into the void.

She scrabbled to hold onto the sleek metal as the vessel suddenly began to spin, claws ripping gashes through the surface as she slowly attempted to cross to the other side. Quickly she grew dizzy enough that just clinging to the hull was a task in and of itself. At least it meant that the Agarthans inside would have a hard time making a counterattack—

The spinning abruptly stopped, the flame spinning around to pulse in the other direction before going out. _Perfect._ She wasted no time lunging for the fire’s source, ripping and shredding until it was floating away like its companion. And then she hooked her claws into the vessel, and began to guide it towards the nearest planet.


	2. Chapter 2

Today was, objectively, probably one of the worst of Mirza’Shal’s life so far. He was stranded in the middle of Terminus Space with no fuel, not that that really mattered at this point. But, he thought as he looked over the ravaged carcass of his ship, it would look a lot better on his record to just say he ran out of fuel. Probably? Though if he fudged some details, maybe he could get a pretty good story out of this…

But that was beside the point. He knew that he should probably be angry, and upset, and planning the best way to bleed the one responsible dry in every way but _maybe_ literal. Yet… He couldn’t help but feel sort of hopeful about the situation. He’d probably do the same thing over again in taking her aboard, if he had some sort of crazy power over time.

“Well, look on the bright side,” he turned to his companion. “At least now I don’t have to worry about running out of fuel.”

The dragon’s tail curled tightly around her legs, her head bowed with something close to sheepishness, and despite himself Mirza felt a pang of sympathy. “You could have died.” Her voice was far more quiet than it should have been for a beastie her size, and he felt a slight frown tug at his lips.

“But hey, I didn’t! We’re going to be just fine,” he started walking towards the wreckage, fairly certain it wasn’t going to explode on him at this point. “I’ll set up a distress signal and dig out the ration packs.” A thought struck him and he paused, turning back towards her. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be dextro based, would you?”

She blinked at him. “Dextro?”

“Hmm.” She’d looked like a human in his dreams, so… “Can you eat human food?”

“Yes.”

Well, that was a bummer. And moderately alarming, but she was definitely on the hardy side given where he’d found her, so he was going to file this as something for his future self to panic about. “Levo, then. It’s a protein thing. You might have a reaction if you try to eat my food.”

There was an amused huff. “Did carrying vials of poison get too conspicuous for you, Claude?”

“ _Poison_ someone? _Me?_ I’ve done no such thing,” he said, doing his best to look innocent despite his mask. The dragon looked unimpressed. “Recently. And my name isn’t Claude!”

Her long neck lowered, carefully bringing her head closer. “Would you prefer I call you Mirza’Shal, now?”

Something stopped the knee-jerk ‘yes’ that sat at the tip of his tongue. “I…” There was something about her calling him Claude that felt strangely right, and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t a little unnerving. Like someone had snuck into his ship to take his measurements and commission him a perfectly tailored new enviro-suit without him knowing. But at the same time, something about her calling him by a different name felt _wrong._ “… Claude is fine. I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Byleth.” Hearing it was like coming home, or what he imagined coming home to feel like. It scared him, a little- more than a little- how easily he was willing to run out of fuel looking for her, drop all his cargo for her, forgive her for _stranding him on an uninhabited planet._ How insistent his instincts screamed at him to listen to her, that everything would be okay so long as they worked together.

“Nice to meet you, Byleth.” He didn’t think strange dreams really counted. “Properly, that is. Say, you wouldn’t happen to be able to,” _homeworld,_ this was a weird conclusion to draw but it still wouldn’t be the craziest thing she’d done that day, “Turn into a human?”

Her head tilted to the side. “Yes… Though it has been a long time.”

Huh. There were conclusions that implied that he did his best not to jump to. “Why don’t you work on that while I go send out the distress call?”

“Alright.” Byleth looked wary at the prospect of him returning to his ship, but was no longer as beyond reason as she had been during the crash. While he wasn’t angry with her, it was definitely something he was going to need to pick her brain over later.

It was a pretty typical response for members of primitive civilizations to fear advanced tech… His companion just had the power to do some real damage in response to her fear. Beyond that, though, something told him that there was more to her reaction than simple fear of the unknown.

How had she gotten into space in the first place? _Always a mystery with her,_ he thought as he carefully picked his way through what remained of his ship. Even that thought was in and of itself a question. That he knew her from somewhere was a given, and while there he’d apparently gone by Claude. Ever since he’d started dreaming of her throne there had been a nagging feeling that there was something deeply important that he had forgotten.

Reaching the helm of the ship, he was unsurprised to see that the communications system seemed undamaged. For the real number she’d done to the flight systems, Byleth had clearly been doing her best to _only_ damage those systems. And thank the Goddess for that—

 _Goddess._ Rannoch, was he becoming an asari now? Given the day he was having it was more possible than he was entirely comfortable with. Not that being one would hurt his charismatic image… But they just didn’t inspire the same brand of charming roguishness he’d worked so hard to cultivate.

Flicking a few switches and inputting the broadcast frequency, he dearly hoped that whoever picked them up was anyone but someone from Omega. He was dead meat when the Blood Pack found out he’d dropped _everything._ Granted, they’d be just as dead, since Byleth would probably try to murder them before they murdered him and forget how important maintaining structural integrity was when you couldn’t survive the vacuum of space. Hell, he’d even prefer a Cerberus pickup. They’d been trying to play nice with other species since that Commander had started working with them. As uneasy as the idea suddenly made him, for reasons he couldn’t yet place, at least a human Byleth would make them less likely to _disappear_ if they were the ones to show up.

Distress signal transmitting and a small case of rations retrieved, he turned to make his way towards the remains of the cargo hold. He’d invested in some pretty robust atmospheric shielding for that part of the ship, so with any luck at least the sword and Failnaught would still be there—

A wave of vertigo made him take a moment to lean against the wall. _Failnaught,_ huh? He rolled the name over in his mind as he made his way through the wreckage. It wasn’t a word in his native tongue, but it didn’t seem foreign to him either. Something he’d have to check out with his translator. Later, though, when he didn’t have a dragon with a fear of spaceships waiting for him to hurry up and get out.

Just as he’d hoped, the relics were still right where Byleth had dropped them. Failnaught was dim, now, looking just like a weirdly shaped hunk of metal and bone. If he was honest, it was a kinda relieving. Carrying around a carved hunk of bone that glowed and pulsated under its own power was just… Freaky.

Of course, as soon as he picked it up it went right back to doing just that. Fantastic. Wonderful. Perfect for staying as inconspicuous as a quarian with a giant bone sculpture could be. Definitely didn’t make his skin crawl or anything.

After taking a moment to get used to the wreathing horror in his hand, Claude picked up Byleth’s sword and started heading back. There was something unsettling in how quickly its weight became comforting. In how he knew that only one of its kindred abominations would be any match for it on the battlefield, that its wielder would be worth as much as a small fleet by themselves. That the cost involved in its making was one he himself would not have been able to pay.

But that price had already been paid, so there was no use in not using it. Wasn’t like he could do anything about it now, and if it could help him achieve his goals… Well, he hoped that the old owner of those bones didn’t mind him using them to help people. Failnaught had called him back to Byleth, after all. He liked to think that meant he had its blessing.

Byleth, speak of the geth, looked like she was struggling a bit. Horns swooped back from a mostly human face; black wings stretched and folded as she seemed to try to get them to merge into her back. Her dress was befitting of someone who took naps on that grand stone throne, but it didn’t look like the most practical outfit for being stranded on a backwater planet.

Just about anyone else would have written off the look she sent him as totally blank, yet something about the small details was enough for Claude to pick out her indignation. He tried to bite back his amusement, but clearly she could tell he was- was that? Was that a tail twitching under her dress? “The extra appendages are harder to transform.” The monotone of her voice in spite of her obvious irritation sent him over the edge into laughter.

It- it really wasn’t that funny. It was a long day, he’d had a _very_ long day, and it was getting harder not to think of himself by that alien name that he’d never heard before today but was so _familiar._ And his ship was wrecked and he was probably going to die soon between being stranded here or angering the Blood Pack and the dragon _had a tail_ and oh, _Goddess,_ this was hysteria and he didn’t have time for _hysterics._

He was dimly aware of his new-old friend slowly sitting next to where he’d collapsed, speaking soothing monotone. Now that his attention had been drawn to it, he could tell that it definitely wasn’t any of the common languages in Citadel or Terminus space. His translator wasn’t translating it. Figuring out (uncovering?) such a small piece of the puzzle helped him come out of his panic; he latched onto it like a lifeline. If he focused too much on the words they sounded like nonsense, slipped through the grasp of his understanding. But passively, not examining it too closely or getting too caught up in the realization that he understood a language he’d never heard before without the aid of a translator, it was easy enough.

“What language is that?” He hated how shaky his voice was.

“Adrestian.” She seemed distressed, a hand hovering uncertainly around his helmet for a moment before settling on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

What a loaded question. He knew there was little he could request that she would refuse. He could probably ask for Omega without her so much as batting an eye. The air left his lungs for a moment as he realized that he _could._ He _could_ ask Byleth to conquer Omega for him, and she _would._ But that would be using her as a means to an end, rather than an end in and of herself. No. Her help would definitely accelerate his plans, but they would take those steps together. For now, though…

He raised Failnaught. “Give me a refresher on how to use this?”

“You don’t use a bow anymore?”

“Nah, guns are all the rage now.” Claude realized a little belatedly that if she didn’t know what a spaceship was, she’d probably have no idea what a gun was either. “They’re basically handheld cannons.” She looked mildly alarmed at that. “Don’t worry, with armor you can take like half a dozen rounds no problem.”

Byleth nodded, still looking somewhat troubled. “It seems I have much to learn about this new age. You should eat, and rest. We can begin training tomorrow.”  
  


* * *

  
After eating an extremely unappetizing-looking ration out of a tube, Claude had retired to his ship for the evening. Byleth resolved to ask him why he never took off that helmet of his in the morning. Whatever passed for morning, at least; it seemed that the days on this planet were much longer than she remembered a day being. So many questions. She felt sort of like she was coming to the Monastery for the first time all over again, having not even a basic introduction to things everyone else took for granted.

They had landed in the middle of a rocky desert, though the temperatures were mercifully cooler than those of the deserts she remembered. Flora was sparse but present, so it stood to reason that there were probably game animals, too. The openness of the area made her feel comfortable with the idea of leaving for a quick hunt.

She hadn’t eaten in… Well. However long she had drifted in that hellish void. Now that she was fully awake, though, the half-forgotten feeling of hunger gnawed at her stomach. Taking the Sword of the Creator, Byleth set off in the pursuit of finding something to eat.

The problem with hunting on a new world was that she didn’t actually know what she was supposed to be hunting. A few mice-sized creatures scuttled past her, but she would prefer to catch one larger beast than half a dozen smaller ones. Though, she thought as she loped down a small hill, it seemed that she may have to resort to setting some mouse-sized traps. The spot where the base of the hill met almost perfectly flat land would be an ideal place for one; the flat land making any bait more visible while the relative safety of the hill’s face perhaps making the creatures bold enough to take it…

Byleth admittedly had no experience with hunting small creatures in the desert. But it seemed to make sense, and it was looking to be a better option than continuing her aimless search. Though it really hadn’t been _that_ long, she was itching to return to—

_Pain._

Reality shattered like glass as time stopped. No wonder she’d had no luck finding the trails of larger beasts, thought a dumbstruck Byleth. They’d been _underneath her the entire time._ Time flowed in reverse, stopped again, resumed its normal pace as Byleth quickly rolled forward. She could feel the spray of dirt and rock pelt her back as the monster burst from the ground, still far too close for comfort.

She stood, getting a good look at her opponent. The head was too alien in appearance for her to know what to do with, all hard brown mandibles and bits that glowed a toxic blue. The torso, though… That was thin enough to work with.

Apparently it was also hunting for a meal, lunging at her with what she could only guess was an open mouth. “Predictable.” And a perfect opportunity. Flicking the vertebrae of her sword free from their rigid form, she slashed out and up as she sidestepped.

Now, she thought as the head fell to the ground, it was just a matter of figuring out how best to eat it.  
  


* * *

  
Feeling much better after waking up, Claude threw off his covers and stretched. He was torn between taking his sweet time, a luxury he didn’t usually have, and rushing out as quickly as he could to greet Byleth. He trusted that everything had gone without incident while he was asleep. And who knew? Maybe he’d walk outside to find she’d magicked up a new ship while he was out.

Stepping out, his laughter at his own thoughts died instantly. There was- She was-

There was a half-eaten _thresher maw_ casually strewn out in front of his ship. A pile of chitin plates was neatly stacked just in front of where the head would have been. The only possible culprit was perched on top of what remained of its back, wings outstretched to catch the sun, eyes closed contentedly.

He would need to get her some new clothes, he thought, if this sort of thing was going to be the new norm. The blood splatters certainly added to the whole warrior goddess image, but it wasn’t… Proper? Lorenz would certainly have a _fit_ if she showed up to dinner like this _._ And unless they were heading to Tuchanka, he was pretty sure most people would be harder to deal with while one of them was covered in the evidence of their battle prowess.

Bright green eyes opened with the lazy self-assuredness of an apex predator. “I suppose you can’t eat any of this.” Byleth’s voice held a mournful tinge.

“Just nutrient paste for me.” He was a little less mournful; the idea of eating thresher maw steaks was a little off-putting. “One of the many delights of being a quarian.”

Her attention grew sharp, curiosity piqued. “Is that why you wear that mask?”

“Yep,” he nodded. “My kind have poor immune systems, so without a full suit on all the time we can get really sick. And by ‘can’ I mean ‘definitely without a doubt will catch plague’.”

"… I see.” She seemed melancholy for a moment, before her head tilted questioningly. “You always had a bit of a knack for spellwork, why not try to learn Recover?”

The existence of magic referenced so causally hit him a little harder than it probably should have, given that he’d taken pretty well to the discovery of draconic goddesses floating in space and calling out to him in his dreams. “I’m afraid magic isn’t exactly common knowledge nowadays. Some people can use biotics, but I’m not sure if that technically qualifies.”

Byleth nodded slowly, considering. “It would be a good idea to brush up on your Faith, just in case. We can go over the basics after bow practice. While you were asleep I took the liberty of moving Failnaught and the others to the Dias, and getting you a training bow—”

“I’m sorry, what? Dias?”

She looked like a varren caught with a chewed up slipper. “… You didn’t really think I carried half an army’s worth of supplies on me during the war?”

“ _Goddess,_ ” he stared at her with wide eyes. “You- you _didn’t.”_ It was hard to blush without a heartbeat, but her embarrassment was easy enough to pick out regardless. “You can’t just- you can’t _use holes in reality as backpacks!”_

“It was convenient.”

He’s… Not sure how to approach this conversation. It sounds _bad,_ but then he’s not the one with the powers of a god, and he doesn’t know enough about tearing holes in reality to build a real argument against her using them like that. But then, it seems serious enough that he’s also not sure if he can _ethically_ make a tactical retreat…

The loud warbling of a mass effect engine saved him from his internal debate. A drop shuttle was entering the atmosphere; someone must have gotten the distress call. That the small ship was decked in uncomfortably familiar colors was a problem he could deal with in the near but hopefully not immediate future. “Byleth, if you can hide those extra parts, now would be great.”

Her expression betrayed the focus and discomfort required, but her more draconic features vanished into petals. “Who are they?”

“Cerberus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thank you for reading if you've made it this far! Next chapter will finally introduce more former students. An absolutely wonderful friend of mine (who is also my beta reader) sent me some lovely art she's done of this fic, which I will be adding as soon as I decide how I want to go about it. I'm thinking either one illustration at the bottom of each relevant chapter or maybe doing two chapters each update, one for the writing and one for art? I'm leaning towards the former.


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